


10.17

by bonebo



Series: Kinktober '16 [17]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Gore, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8385595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: In the chill of a dimly-lit warehouse, strung out on adrenaline and old, stale fear, Jesse McCree is fading.kinktober 17 - blood/gore





	

In the chill of a dimly-lit warehouse, strung out on adrenaline and old, stale fear, Jesse McCree is fading.

The table he’s tied to is cold, the single lightbulb overhead is glaringly bright, the gag between his teeth tastes of gasoline. In the lonely silence, he swears he can hear his heart racing, pounding against his throat. It’s all background noise when compared to the sound of footsteps, circling him.

“You’ve been tough to crack….four days, and not a single secret spilled. You won’t even tell us who you work for.” The man is a stranger, face hidden behind the red-visored helmet; its glaring stare is unsettling, makes Jesse squirm uncomfortably as he tries to follow with his gaze. “But that’s okay. We know how to deal with men like you. What it takes to make you break….”

He stops, goes over to the table nearby. Jesse has no idea what’s on it--his imagination runs wild with all kinds of high-tech torture equipment, tools designed to cause pain. The man hums thoughtfully, then returns, and holds his selection up for Jesse to see.

It’s a hacksaw.

It’s a hacksaw and Jesse still can’t move, can barely see, can’t speak--he’s always been told he has a way with words but the gag keeps his silver tongue at bay, and his mind races as he realizes he is quickly, very quickly, running out of options.

The man grabs his chin again, squeezes until Jesse’s sure there’ll be bruises. He narrows his eyes and glares into the visor, trying to put as much venom into the silent gesture as he can. His stomach is in knots.

“You aren’t going to talk to us, are you,” the man says--even through the helmet’s mechanical filter, Jesse can tell the question is rhetorical. He chews at his gag restlessly, trying to burn through his nervous energy and stop shaking against the straps that hold him at bay.

“Nah...you’re too strong for that. Too much of a man, aren’t you?”

He lets go roughly, tossing Jesse’s head aside, and picks up the hacksaw instead. Its rusty blade gleams in the dangling light, and Jesse swallows thickly; tries to think back to his training, to Gabriel looming over him with a scowl and a knife.

_“It’s going to hurt. Accept it, don’t fear it. There’s a reason it’s called torture.”_

Jesse has accepted he’s going to be cut.

He’s still terrified.

The blade is set down against the junction of his left arm--light, a whisper, a promise of pain. Jesse can only stare at it, his breathing coming quick, all of his training fleeing him in the rush of raw panic that claws up his throat. He tries to writhe, to jerk against the bonds in a vain attempt at freedom--

And he screams into the gag as the blade bites down, sawing through his flesh like something cruel, something hungry. The saw tears at his skin and he can’t stop the tears that spring to his eyes, nearly going blind with the white-hot pain of it, the agony of getting taken apart. He writhes and tosses his head to avoid looking at the mess the hacksaw makes of his arm, the way the muscles cut ragged bleed out onto the table in a quick pool of red.

But then the blade is stilled--the ligaments of his elbow are not as quick to yield as his softer muscle--and the gag is nowhere near enough to keep him quiet as the stretchy cartilage is slowly, meticulously, chewed through. Everything is hot--the blood collecting under his body, the tears on his face, the frantic beat of his heart.

 

The hacksaw blade hits the hard stop of bone. In a rush of white and red and hurt, Jesse McCree falls into oblivion.


End file.
